The sound of gushing water in the shower Damian was currently using was sadly not loud enough to drown the singing voice of the guy in the next room. Damian had tried banging the wall repeatedly several times already, but there had been no reaction. It was apparent that the guy simply adored his abysmally off-key “singing” voice.

Damian sighed loudly, temporally resigning as he turned his focus back to soap and shampoo. Performing some more persuasive arguments would have to wait. He finished his shower, and reached for his towel. Some grooming later, he found a new shirt and some dark blue jeans from his suitcase, and left the bathroom, letting out a small sigh as he sat down on his bed.

The triangular face currently planted in Damian’s palms featured a square chin. His eyes were steel-grey, and the dark brown to black hair was almost a buzzcut, just barely longer than his stubble. Standing approximately five feet eleven, he was too short to look particularly menacing. His slim figure helped completing the impression of a guy who tried to look more daunting than he really was. The twenty-seven year old Caucasian hadn’t really tried to look menacing anyway, he had been aiming for handsome; an attempt that had been somewhat successful, judging from his “nightlife-results”, at least.

Dashing. I hope.

Damian worked as an athletic recruiter, which meant that he earned his wages by traveling to schools and sporting events across the country, scouting for up-and-coming talents. Traveling from Boston, he had been heading towards Los Angeles in search of such a talent when his plane had started experiencing engine trouble. It had forced the captain to land at a small and shoddy Pennsylvania airport. It was servicing an equally small town, but, luckily, not equally shoddy. It was actually a pretty nice place; the hotel he was staying at had high standards. Business, apparently, was great. Damian was sure that the nearby modern highway, and not the airport, was the real source of visitors.

The road between that airport and the town, however, bore witness of the true nature of the society. It was rural, alright; he’d actually seen a horse buggy passing by on the trip. The man driving it had worn very plain clothes. He had a long and greying beard, which, along with his dark trousers, dark vest, suspenders, and a felt hat, had made Damian suddenly realize what kind of a farmer the man was.

These events of the day behind him swirling through his mind, Damian thought also about the fact that there was no chance of getting to the game in time after this setback. The kid he was supposed to evaluate would, however, participate in another game only two days later, so Damian would catch another plane tomorrow, and head for LA after all.

In the meantime, there was nothing to do but finding a way to kill the time, so Damian decided to scout some country nightlife in the bar instead. It was, after all, Saturday night. He put on his suit jacket, and exited his room. The guy in the next room could sing his head off for all he cared. At least for a while, anyway. He walked through the hallway and down the stairs to the bar.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the dimmed room, was the long oak-paneled counter itself. Damian had rarely seen a finish looking so spotless, shining, brand new. It brought out the natural color in the wood in a way that could only be described as exceptional, extraordinary.

The barstools next to it were not stools at all, they had lumbar support and were padded in a smooth, clean, grey fabric. The floor was almost as spotless as the counter, featuring tiles of a wood Damian did not recognize. Behind the long counter, there was nothing but empty space and the entrance area, but to the left of it; many tables were situated. The people sitting by those tables in the big room, on chairs like those by the bar, were dining on meals Damian was sure weren’t cheap.

It was a classy place, not a place to get drunk, not a place for brawls. It was, in short, not your stereotypical hick joint. Damian was intent on fitting in in that image, a casual evening spent chatting with the barkeep about everything and nothing suited him fine. An evening handling himself like Bogart in Casablanca, like a man who could drink like a drunkard and yet remain the most poised, sophisticated womanizer in the room. Damian walked over to the counter and chose the chair on the left end, so that he would find himself as close to the center of the room as possible.

‘What will it be, sir?’ asked the barkeep.

Damian saw that the lists on the wall behind the bar were as long as the wall itself, and that the bottles standing on the counter beneath it were too many to count. The selection was wide, to put it mildly. Damian, not eager to consider them all, chose instead a straightforward option.

‘A famous man once said that he should’ve never switched from scotch to martinis.’

The barkeep smiled, and Damian suspected that he knew of whom he was talking.

‘So he did, sir.’

‘I mean…Connery is six-three, I’m double unshaven. No use trying to emulate him,’ Damian continued. ‘On the rocks, please.’

The barkeep gave him his drink, still smiling.

‘Maybe Craig, sir?’

‘Craig?’ answered Damian. ‘Screw Craig. That role isn’t meant for him,’ he stated. ‘And besides, he’s blond,’ he continued. ‘No, my good man. Give me Connery, and perhaps Dalton. They were good.’

‘Class will never go out of style, sir. Bogart had it - without martinis.’

Damian looked at the barkeep, nodded, and raised his glass. Then, he started surveying the room.

‘Blond…,’ he snorted, an indignant look on his face.

Almost all the people in the room were sitting. Dining and drinking and having a good time by the tables. But next to the wall on the other side of the room, one person stood out, a girl who caught his attention. A wallflower. She stood on one leg, the other one up against the wall so that her knee pointed from it in his direction. Her mouth was very slightly open, which made her look both innocent and somewhat anxious. It was after perceiving this, however, that he noticed something else. It was her eyes. They didn’t match the rest of her face at all. There was a calmness in them, almost a sort of arrogance, an arrogance that changed her whole appearance. It became clear to him that her innocence and insecurity was false, maybe to hide something, fool or trick someone. No matter what it was, the girl had turned into a mystery - and he found her suddenly irresistible. Her looks didn’t hurt either.

She’s surveying the room too.

Damian finished his drink, and decided immediately to approach the girl. He rose, walked towards her, but not straight towards her, instead fixing his gaze on a point on the wall two feet or so to her right. He saw, in the corner of his eye, that she, on the other hand, looked directly at him, had noticed him. He leaned his elbow up against the wall, next to her, and faced her. The girl disguised as a wallflower was even more beautiful up close.

She had an oval-shaped face, with high bones under the slightly flushed cheeks. The confident eyes were amber, and her carefully plucked eyebrows were as immaculate as her fair skin. She had chest length wavy hair that he suspected to be of a quite lighter brown than what it seemed in the dimmed lighting of the bar. She seemed to be around two inches shorter than him in her semi-high black heels, heels that made her long legs look even longer. Her slim build, hourglass-figure and…firmness everywhere consolidated his impression of her as a very beautiful woman. She wore a tight, black body-con dress that accentuated her curves, a dress that ended right above her knees. Not too revealing, all the more enticing. She looked to be around twenty.

‘You know,’ Damian said, having caught her attention, ‘someone once said that if you looked him straight into the eyes, you would see yourself.’

‘Pfft..,’ she replied, in a tone similar to the look in her eyes. Calm, arrogant. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ she continued, looking condescending.

Damian smiled.

‘I see that the guy must’ve been wrong,’ he continued. ‘I’m not that arrogant.’

She didn’t change her expression, but-.

‘Okay,’ she answered, a smile forming. ‘I’ll play.’

She intensified her gaze.

‘However,’ Damian said, standing up straight, pulling away, ‘you won’t see your newfound yourself in my eyes - even if the guy was right after all.’

It was not the kind of reaction she had expected, but she rallied almost immediately.

‘I know I won’t,’ she said. ‘I’m just playing your silly game,’ she continued, winking.

‘You won’t see it,’ he continued, leaning towards her again, ‘because you’re not looking straight at me. You have to look up to face me.’

He paused, grinning at her.

‘I guess your mystery fellow said something about that to?’ she asked, a shrewd look on her face now.

Damian nodded.

‘When you looked up at him, he said; you would see God.’

A smile, a slightly derisive smile, but a smile nonetheless, appeared on her face.

‘Conceited,’ she said, her grin widening. ‘But confident,’ she continued. ‘You made up that quote yourself?’

‘I am clever,’ he replied. ‘But the line isn’t mine, no.’

‘Well, who said it then?’ she asked.

‘Charles Manson.’

She raised her eyebrows again, but then she laughed.

‘Okay, that is clever. And audacious.’

Damian smiled, and reached out his hand.

‘Damian.’

‘Hannah,’ she answered, grinning.

‘Care for a drink?’ he replied.

‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I think I will have a drink with you. Maybe even two…’

They hurried up the stairs, almost lost their balance several times due to their focus being elsewhere, and tumbled through the hallway in a similar fashion. Arriving at the door, Damian did a hasty, frantic search through his pockets, and found the key card. He opened the door, and they basically fell in.

He threw his jacket off in a swift movement, and it landed somewhere on the floor. Tidiness could wait, Damian had more important things on his mind, like the arms that was tightly wrapped around him.

Then, she pulled abruptly away, a sly look upon her smiling face. Suddenly, she shoved him onto the bed.

‘Christ!’ he half-yelled in surprise as he landed.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Hannah answered. She reached over her shoulder, and thrusted her hand down, gripping for something inside her dress. The following tug made a whip snap against her neck, and the resulting whimper was accompanied by a coy smile. She fluttered her eyelids, and bit her lower lip as she turned her gaze on him.

Damian’s eyebrows rose only for a second. The initial surprise gone, he felt a wicked expression forming on his face. A torrid, swiftly widening grin. He threw his shirt off.

‘Oh, you naughty girl…’

She sunk to her knees on the floor by the short end of the bed, the soft bite now on her index finger, the coy smile joined by bedroom eyes. Then, she crawled up on the bed, and started approaching him slowly.

He said nothing, did not change his expression, did nothing but continuing watching her intently. Her whip in her left hand, she touched his chin softly with the other, her expression playful, purring at him.

‘Headmaster must get up,’ she said softly, ‘Class is about to begin, and…’

She looked him deep into the eyes, put out her tongue, and licked her teeth.

‘…someone needs her schooling.’

Damian grinned, and did as told. She took his place, and threw her dress off. It exposed yet another surprise, namely handcuffs hanging from her bra. She fastened her right hand to the headboard, and turned around to face him, cyan underwear still on. This girl knew how to play.

Less isn’t more. Not yet.

‘I’ve forgotten to do my homework…,’ she said, still biting her right index finger. There was a sultry, guilty smile on her face. She reached down and put her left thumb inside the waistband on the right side of the panties, and Damian half expected her to pull out two hair ties to fashion herself a pair of pigtails, but no. The snap was made for effect.

Then, she handed him the whip.

Now in character, Damian coiled the whip up with his right hand.

‘Tsk, tsk, tsk…,’ he said, while slowly shaking his head, back and forth. Meanwhile, he uncoiled the whip again, taking his time.

She whimpered.

‘Have I been a bad girl?’ she asked, the corners of her mouth turning down.

He approached her in a sudden movement, grabbed her by the throat, and pulled her face slowly closer to his. Just before their noses touched, he stopped, closed his eyes, smelled her perfume - and opened his eyes again.

‘You will be quiet now, kitten.’

She whimpered a little more loudly this time, but smirked also, as he seized her around the waist, and threw her around in a fast motion, so that she faced the headboard. She pulled herself up on her elbows, and her rear protruded towards him as she curved her back downwards. He positioned himself with his calves on each side of hers, sitting on his knees in an upright stance.

The skin on her back and behind was as smooth as that on her face. He touched the tip of his tongue with his right index finger, and slid it slowly down her spine. She trembled slightly, he heard a sharp intake of breath. A white canvas, beautiful. He used both palms, spread all his fingers, and pressed them softly down on her shoulder blades. She took another deep breath, and he moved his hands in a slow, steady motion down to her waist, and up again to the bottom. Successive deep breaths. Soft. Smooth. Flawless.

‘To tarnish…or not to tarnish…,’ he said. Then, he just went for it.

The first swing, however, was very light, causing only a shade of redness on the skin, a shade that faded almost as fast as it had appeared.

‘Oh, no…,’ she said, her voice steady, sarcastic. ‘How can I ever endure such horrible punishment?’

Damian swung with more force, and this time, the skin got redder, the area bigger.

There came a sharp intake of breath, but she said nothing, so Damian hit her even harder, a few tiny droplets of blood appearing in the middle of the red spot this time. He feared for a split second that he’d might’ve gone to far, but the new intake of breath was followed by a sigh and an accompanying ‘mmm’.

‘Oh, mr. Fisher…,’ she purred playfully, when she felt the next slap; flexing her arms and chest, moving backwards as she curved her back even more.

He smacked her for the fifth and hardest time yet. More blood. Some sweat. Her arms trembled a little.

‘I didn’t want to do my homework!’ she replied between gritted teeth, a little louder now.

‘You’re a lazy little girl,’ Damian replied, louder also, swinging the whip again. A cyan strap snapped open.

‘I need - mmm - private tutoring,’ she said while he hit her once more, while she clutched the bed sheets. ‘Implement in me your - ooooh…competence,’ she moaned and hissed as she felt yet another slap.

‘Little girls will take the tutoring they get - discipline is what you need.’

‘Naughty…,’ Hannah replied, the intakes of breath becoming sharper. ‘Mmm…naughty, so naughty…’

Another snap, another moan.

Damian hit her now glistening back and behind yet another time. Then, he repositioned himself, moving up next to her. He grabbed her face again, and turned it towards him.

‘Will…she be…a good…girl now?’

He had hummed the sentence, through grinning teeth. Four slow, hard, lengthier slaps. No reply this time; only a gasp as she flexed her muscles, relaxing them again as the blood mixed with sweat. The acting from the foreplay was turning more and more into real pleasure, but Damian was reserved in his force still. He didn’t want to go further too fast. More power, however, was clearly desired.

And when her eyes opened again, the mouth had turned into a defiant grin, complete with narrowed eyes. The vixen hissed at him, and he swung the whip again. She moaned as she closed her eyes, and sucked in her lips. She opened them again to let out a sigh. Then; her eyes changed her grin to a mocking one, and she stared at him intently - before letting out a snarl while trying to swipe him, her red nails sharp as talons. She was goading him into more.

He responded to the mocking by narrowing his own eyes as he responded with a malevolent grin. Then, he slapped her chin without turning away from her. She gasped.

‘Kitten’s got claws? It won’t do!’

He smacked her on the chin again, and the moan was as loud as the hard slap.

‘What will it take to discipline some respect into me?’ she yelped.

He moved back behind her, and swung the whip once more, the blood all over the buttocks and the back now. Damian couldn’t quite shake his concerned feeling, but the girl was clearly still yearning for more.

‘She tries to scratch me? Further discipline is needed, it seems!’

‘So impertinent!’ she continued, loudly moaning in her arousal.

Damian took a deep breath, and smacked the whip almost as hard as he could. Hannah trembled, she moaned, she cried, she flexed her arms and gripped the bedsheets so hard that her nails teared holes in them.

‘Ooh, Goh-oh-oohd…!’ she moaned, relishing the treatment while aching for more.

Holding the whip with his teeth, Damian pulled his pants off.

‘You give me no choice, hard punishment must be applied!’

‘Yes!’ the answer came. ‘Bad girl!’

The whip back in his right hand, he gave her another lash.

‘BAD GIRL!’ she repeated, shouting.

Damian took hold of her panties with her teeth, and ripped them right off. He grabbed her hair and pulled her back, so that he could lean over from behind and look her in the eyes with the ripped underwear in his grinning jaw.

Then, he fulfilled her wish.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting next to each other, both with blissful smiles on their faces. Her birthday suit glistening with sweat and blood, hair all messed up, Hannah rose from the bed to retrieve a third secret hidden in her dress; a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She sat back down next to Damian, lighted two smokes, and gave one to him.

‘There is indeed many sins, surprises, vices in that dress of yours.’

‘I’m deviant,’ she answered. ‘You’ve seen so yourself.’

She drew her first smoke.

‘What made such a wildcat out of you?’ he asked, after exhaling his first smoke.

Her laughter made her choke, and there was a lot of coughing before she managed to answer him.

‘We do all have our turn-ons, don’t we?’ she spluttered, tears in her eyes from the coughing. ‘I don’t know why, I just…whips, you know?’ She mimicked the movement and mouthed the sound of a whip.

Damian grinned.

‘I do now.’

She laughed again.

‘I hear the sound, it hits me, and a whoosh pulses through me, my skin tingles, and…well, you’ve seen what it feels like.

Her cheeks flushed, and she almost moaned again.

‘You haven’t tried it before, though. I could see that, feel that.’

‘Yes I have, but not nearly as hard as that,’ she answered. ‘And the sound has turned me on for years,’ she continued, letting out a deep sigh.

He felt suddenly very dejected, having spoiled something flawless.

‘Turn around,’ he said, and she so did.

She winced when he touched her, so he tried just looking instead. It would never be as pure as it had been again, but the abrasions were way more numerous than they were deep. He looked at an old scar on his right arm. It was from a scratch similar to those on her back, and, though darker than the skin around it, it had become almost as smooth again. He sighed with relief.

‘Is it bad?’ she asked.

He told her of his assessment, and she smiled. Then, something else occurred to him.

‘Who’s mr. Fisher?’

She grinned, drew another smoke, but did not look at him.

‘An old teacher of mine,’ she said, after exhaling. ‘Oh, how I fantasized about that man, I can’t remember shit from his classes.’

Then, she turned towards Damian.

‘But that was never to be, so you had to do.’

‘I was way better than mr. Fisher could’ve ever been,’ he countered, winking at her. ‘Your live-review gave solid testimony of that.’

‘Don’t insult my sex-God!’ Hannah said loudly, pretending to be indignant. Then she threw a pillow at Damian.

‘Face it, Hannah; your perfect illusion would’ve never accepted your weird, kinky, disturbing urges.’

She hit him with the pillow again.

‘You don’t know anything about our love!’ she continued in a dramatic voice.

‘I know that he doesn’t know about it.’

She gasped.

‘You’re jealous.’

He shook his head, grinning.

‘Not of a delusion.’

‘I think I’m done talking to you now.’ she replied, a hurt tone in her voice. Then, she grinned again, and turned away from him.

‘Yeah, yeah…,’ he said, not bothering to continue the jesting. ‘It’s late, why don’t we just get to sleep?’ he continued. He put out his cigarette, and left it on the ashtray.

‘My, it is!’ she said, looking at the clock on the wall. It was one o’clock.

She got an anxious look on her face, and jumped out of the bed.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked, surprised. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

Picking up her dress, she cursed to herself as she picked up her torn panties. Throwing them into a corner, she put on her bra, the dress and her shoes, before she picked up the whip and gestured to Damian for her handcuffs. Then, she curled the whip. She stood still for a second, before cursing again as she took the dress off.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Damian, bewildered now.

‘That is for me to know, and for you to wonder about.’

He walked over to her, and watched as she put the whip and the cuffs in a big, padded pocket inside the backside of the dress. She’d clearly fashioned it herself.

‘How does it look?’ she asked, after putting the dress back on.

‘Smooth,’ he answered. ‘How does it feel?’ he asked.

‘It’s alright.’

She started walking towards the door.

‘You’re not going home to some husband, are you?’ he asked.

She turned towards him.

‘I’m not,’ she said, looking both understanding and offended. ‘This was fun, but I must go. That’s all I can say.’

He felt somewhat dispirited, but remembered that it was the mystery about her that had attracted him in the first place, and also that he was leaving anyway. It didn’t matter.

‘Wait,’ he said.

‘Yes?’ she answered, looking impatient now.

He opened his suitcase, rummaged through it, and found some briefs.

‘I don’t know if men’s underwear is better than no underwear, but you can have this if you want.’

She smiled, gave him a kiss, and accepted his offer with a “thank you”.

‘If you should return one day..,’ she said, pausing for two seconds. ‘Well, stay true to yourself anyhow. Stay original.’

She opened the door, and left, leaving him not quite sure how to feel. Then, suddenly, he started laughing, deciding to appreciate the episode as a fitting end to a strange night. He continued chuckling as he turned off the light and returned to bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Damian woke sort of early the next morning. He arrived at the breakfast hall at eight-thirty, helped himself to a lot of egg and bacon, and just sat there, reminiscing the night before with a smile on his face. The bar and dining room of the evening prior was the very same that he was currently sitting in, doubling as a breakfast hall, so it was easy to indulge in last night’s memories - sitting right where they had been sitting when seducing each other.

After doing so for a while, he noticed that the room wasn’t the only thing doubling from the night before. Mr. Barkeep had just emerged from the kitchen. Damian caught his eye, and gestured for him to come over. Now up close, he noticed that the man looked to be quite older than what he’d seemed to him in the dimmed light the night before.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Good morning…Robert?’ said Damian, checking Robert’s name tag. ‘I was just wondering; do you know of the girl from last night? Hannah?’

‘I do,’ said the barkeep turned cook, ‘but I’m afraid she wouldn’t want me to tell you about her. I’m sorry, sir.’

Damian displayed a surprised face.

‘She wouldn’t? Why so?’ Damian answered, not really annoyed, just curious.

‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either,’ came the answer.

‘No? Is there anything about her you can tell me then?’

Robert seemed uncertain regarding what to do for a moment. Then, he sat down.

‘Few people live in our town,’ he said, ‘but many travel through it.’

He went again silent for a few seconds.

‘Those living here rarely engages in nightlife,’ he continued. ‘But Hannah has done so a few times. She knows who’s in here - and who’s not.’

Damian surmised that he knew what Robert meant.

‘I think I understand.’ he said. ‘Thank you, Robert.’

Robert nodded, rose, and returned to the kitchen. Damian, meanwhile, returned to his thoughts; more contemplative, but still dreamy.

Cyan class.. soft…smooth.

She had perfected it.

Naughty fantasies…

She had dreamed of it.

Craving, longing, lusting.. liberation.

She had needed it.

Impertinent, so impertinent.. Improper..

‘Coffee?’

Damian jumped, and saw that Robert had returned.

‘I’m sorry to have spooked you sir, but breakfast service is ending in ten minutes, and I thought I’d offer you a cup of coffee while there’s still time.’

He smiled.

‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ Damian replied, smiling back. ‘Thank you.’

Damian checked his watch. He had been sitting there for a long time, it was almost eleven now. It was no trouble though, his plane wasn’t leaving until four. Finishing his coffee, he decided to go out for a stroll, stretch his legs. Down the street? Down the idyllic, possibly muddy, country road he’d arrived from?

Meadows…fields.

The commercial district of the town was limited to one street, the street in which the hotel was situated. Naturally. There was a grocery store; a pharmacy; something that might be an ER, he wasn’t sure; a fashion store or two; and a bookshop. The streets were paved, covered by asphalt, but only in one direction - the one leading to other streets, streets that were full of pretty nice homes. Damian thought to himself that somewhere, in one of those houses, sat possibly a pretty girl, with her parents or friends… unless she had been lying and was sitting there with a husband and kids…

God, I hope not.

He felt suddenly a strong yearning for her, but knew, of course, that it was futile. For too many reasons.

Deciding to himself that he didn’t want to visit the residential area, he turned instead the other way. The weather had been sunny for days, it would be okay.

After having walked for a while, he stopped to rest. In the distance from whence he had come, he saw the now even more tiny (appearing) town. In the distance from where he was going, he could hear bells ringing.

Leaning on a fence, he gazed out towards the meadow on the other side. The grass there had grown tall; he was pretty sure it would’ve reached him to his thighs, maybe even to the waist. And then, it hit him again; the yearning. Like a thunderbolt.

Damian could picture her, standing there, out on the meadow. Her white summer dress featured a laced bodice made of some sheer fabric, so that her smooth, fair skin was faintly visible. The skirt, on the other hand, was as purely white as the innocence he had suspected to be her true nature when he first saw her.

Hannah was dancing in the tall grass, smiling, laughing. She moved in circles around herself, her gaze towards the blue sky, her arms like a propeller around her. She turned towards him, and the violent bolt of infatuation hit him again. She was looking at him, but she wasn’t. She was there, but she wasn’t. He was blissful, but he wasn’t. And he was devastated, but he wasn’t.

You don’t even know her, idiot.

Damian picked himself up emotionally, and walked on, not really knowing why. Nothing made sense, but he felt like he had to do…something to escape his thoughts.

The girl from the night before had been self-assured, bold, resolute. She’d been a liberated woman, a challenge, spirited, refreshing. Beautiful, yes, but not the stereotypical girly southern belle he’d just seen in his head. She’d been dominant even when submissive. What he’d just seen had not really been her - in any way.

You’re deluded.

Damian walked on, exploring the surroundings to turn his focus away from her. The meadows turned in to fields, fields with barns and farms next to them. It split into two roads. One continuing towards the airport, the other to…somewhere. He continued down that road, and walked for an entire hour, taking himself far away. The farm buildings were still there, but he saw now also another building, a bigger, simple, but beautiful structure.

People were streaming out of it, the bells ringing again. Buggies like the one from the day before were parked on the outside, farmers like the guy from the day before were walking towards them, accompanied by ladies. The women were wearing aprons and plain-cut, calf length dresses in a solid color - most of them blue. Triangular capes were fastened to the aprons. None of the men rode alone.

The people entered their buggies, and the horses started moving, drawing closer to where Damian stood, the only road in and out. Damian moved to the side of the road to let them pass, but the first buggy didn’t pass. It stopped. The man had seen that Damian was staring at him and his passenger.

‘May I help you, sir?’ said the man in the buggy, a puzzled look on his face. But Damian barely heard the man, his gaze fixed on the woman, who looked frightened. He noticed, but didn’t say anything. The farmer looked at him again, but didn’t repeat the question. He, instead, turned and addressed the woman.

‘Kathleen?’

The man had gotten a concerned expression on his face.

‘Kathleen, do you know this man?’

Both men looked at her. One intently, the other apprehensively.

But Kathleen didn’t answer the farmer. Instead, she just sat there, facing Damian with a silent plea in her teary eyes.